


A New Day

by OllyOpossum



Series: Whte Hot Spurs [1]
Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: English National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyOpossum/pseuds/OllyOpossum
Summary: Eric Dier and Dele Alli are inseparable! Their silly adventures and ruthless banter together have given Eric some of the happiness moments in his life. Eric knows he has fallen hard for his best friend, but he is certain Dele doesn't love him... not like that.A crucial match against arch-rivals Arsenal looms! And a massive falling out on the pitch threatens to spell the end of Eric and Dele's friendship, forcing both young men come to terms with their true feelings for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fic. Drop me a mail at OllyOpossum@gmail.com for a chat about anything.
> 
> Watching the chemistry between Dele and Eric on the web and Social Media really inspired this piece.
> 
> Any feedback, positive or negative, is much appreciated.

**A New Day** is part of a series, but can be read on its own. Click [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/583534) to check out other stories in the series.

   

 

 

“Hey, Diet.” 

“Hmm?” Eric absent-mindedly tousles his blonde hair, he doesn’t take his eyes off the silly combat video game they are playing in Dele’s living room, where he is most certainly beating Dele.

It’s the night before their big game with arch-rivals Arsenal. Eric and Dele know the tactics by heart; they have practiced till the sweat caked on their backs. All that’s left now is to clock a restful night’s sleep. Eric already has all his gear packed to spend a night on Dele’s couch before Dele drives them to the game tomorrow.

“I saved the last chip for ya, mate.” Dele is next to him on the couch, barely two feet from Eric, nibbling on what’s left of their dinner. He doesn’t seem concerned by the yelps of pain his green demon character is making as Eric’s wolf centaur pummels him. “C’mon, Diet. Catch!”

Eric pauses the game and turns to Dele, his half-formed retort cut off by the piece of fried spud hitting him in the face.

“What the— You are such a little shit, Dele!”

Dele is already snorting with laughter. Eric can’t help but crack up too. He finds the stray chip on the front of his shirt and pops it into his mouth, making exaggerated chewing noises at Dele.

Dele smirks upon seeing this, “Just trying to keep you well-fed and strong for our match tomorrow, Dierwolf. Don’t want to have to worry about carrying you for the entire game.”

“Don’t mind me, Delboy. I won’t hold you back from your usual run of open goal misses.”

Eric’s comeback sends Dele into another fit of laughter. Eric feels the warmth of Dele’s body playfully nudging into his torso while he hoots in hysterics. Eric blushes heavily.

More than once, Eric has wished he could go back to being a simple lads lad around Dele. Pranks during training, banter over social media, late nights with rubbish food and bad video games— being best friends with Dele Alli has been a joy of a thrill ride for Eric. He’s good at pretending, but lately, their time together has taken on a new quality that weighs on him.

Eric finds himself growing very protective of Dele. He is flustered when Dele smiles at him. He catches his own eyes darting to inappropriate areas of Dele’s body during stretches. And something in his heart swells proudly when he sees Dele’s dogged viciousness on the football pitch.

He recognises this feeling. It’s the tingle throughout his body Eric felt when he kissed his first girlfriend at age thirteen. Or the pure elation that blared in Eric’s head when the raven haired cheerleader nuzzled her head against his shoulder on the way back from their school trip. But this is the first time Eric has felt this way about another man. And he knows he is quickly running out of ways to convince himself that he isn’t falling for Dele.

Eric doesn’t like it. Late at night, when his mind is otherwise empty, Eric feels his chest tighten from the rejection he knows is coming. Dele is very open (and physical) about his affection for Eric, but he doesn’t love him… not like that. Things will never recover from the awkwardness, and Eric will lose his best friend.

Dele interrupts Eric’s thoughts; a spark ignites behind his eyes, “Care to make things interesting?”

“What?”

“If I manage to score tomorrow, you’ll have to get me a pint. And…” Dele grins widely as he makes finger guns and wags them at Eric, “Post a video to Instagram admitting I’m the best and you got del-stroyed.”

“Rubbish, Dele. And if I win?”

“You won’t.”

“ **WHEN** I win?”

“I can get you the pint.”

“That’s a bit of a shit cop out.”

“Ummmm.” Dele pulls up the front of his shirt to dab at his chin, Eric concentrates hard and manages not to stare at his exposed abs. “I’ll record myself singing the Eric Diet chant!” Dele starts humming incomprehensibly before settling into the lyrics, “I love Eric Dier, Eric Dier loves me...”

“Dele, shush.”

“I loooove Eric DI-ER, and Eric Dier loves me!”

Eric quite likes that chant. Hearing the fans sing it made him feel welcome when he first settled into Spurs. But hearing those words come from Dele’s lips is different; Eric can sense his feelings bubbling to the surface again. Dele is staring straight at him, looking mighty content with himself. Eric hopes Dele doesn’t notice his awkwardness.

“So?” Dele’s eyes meet his.

Eric frowns, “So, what?”

“So, do you love me, Eric Dier?”

_Why does Dele have to do this to him?_

Eric allows suppressed anxiety over tomorrow’s match to creep in. He figures it’s a good way to distract himself from saying something sappy and stupid to Dele, “It depends Del Boy. On whether or not you help us win tomorrow.”

\--

Later in the evening, as Eric tries to start a good night’s sleep alone on the sofa, he thinks about Dele. Knowing his friend, Eric knows Dele is still awake in the other room as nervous about the game as he is. Just before the grogginess overtakes him and he drifts into slumber, Eric pictures wrapping his arms around Dele in comfort, prepared to stave off anything that threatens to dim the perpetual glow of Dele’s sunny attitude.

\--

Following a quick breakfast, they load up Dele’s car and drive to the stadium. Dele exhales deeply after he parks. Eric breaks the silence, “Let’s do this, Dele! And it’s back to your place for that pint after we win.” Eric holds up his fist, which Dele bumps with his own.

They head off to meet their fate.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The match against Arsenal is shit.

Eighty minutes in, neither team has managed to score. But Arsenal has been far more aggressive with their efforts. Spurs Goalkeeper and team captain Hugo has already made a half dozen valiant saves, but Eric knows they are pushing their luck. Eric glances upfield at Dele, drenched in sweat and brows furrowed in concentration. He knows they are both frustrated the desperation builds.

Eric sprints to mark his opponent. He can see players on both sides scuffling for the ball across the field, Dele among them. After a beat, the ball flies off-field into the stands, the crowd too tense to cheer as it launches into their seats. An Arsenal midfielder seems especially offended by the earlier melee, he stalks after Dele, yelling and gesturing intensely. Dele’s head jolts up in surprise, then his expression darkens. He isn’t about to let the arrogant fucker speak to him like that. Dele raises his voice right back, the frustration of the past eighty minutes rampaging out through his gritted teeth.

They cross the final few steps and get right in each other faces, eyes bulging and faces red with rage. Eric dashes over to the confrontation, he knows this will only escalate.

“Dele, stop!” Eric places both hands on Dele’s shoulders.

Dele spins out of his grasp, once again going toe to toe with the gooner, cussing up a storm. Amidst the torrent of yells from both sides, Eric is sure he hears the bastard call Dele a “little fag”. He feels his own face flush with anger. In another life, Eric would yank the savage off Dele and throw him to the ground; the crowd thundering into applause as Eric intertwines his fingers with Dele’s and raises his other hand in triumph. Maybe _then_ , he would finally find the courage to tell his best friend how he really feels about him.

But that’s another fight for another day.

Right now, he just wants to protect Dele; cool him down, because getting hit with a suspension for the next crucial string of matches would absolutely crush Dele.

Dele looks about a second away from taking a swing. “Stop it!” Eric tries to ram his shoulder in between the two men. Dele starts to manoeuver around him, but Eric is quicker. He plants his feet firmly, rooting himself between them and grabs Dele’s wrist, shoving him away from the confrontation.

Eric underestimates his own strength. Dele loses his balance and sprawls backwards, pulling Eric down with him before he can even react.

They tumble onto the pitch together, a mess of stray limbs. The wanker in red starts to chuckle cruelly at the sight of this, so do his teammates. Fuck. Eric imagines the laugh the papers will have about this tomorrow, at his and Dele’s expense. He immediately jumps back onto his feet, hoping the reassuring smile he wills onto his face is enough to calm his friend down as he extends his hand to help Dele up.

Dele’s expression hits Eric like a ton of bricks. He is furious!

Eric doesn’t even feel the impact as Dele smacks his extended hand away, “You can sod right off, Eric Dier!”

Dele gets up on his own and flicks his eyes over Eric’s shoulder. Eric can still hear the Arsenal prick snickering behind him. Dele’s glare returns to Eric as he lowers his voice, “Don’t I feel like a complete mug; fancying someone who doesn’t even support his friend. What a shite teammate!” Dele roughly brushes past Eric, leaving Eric shivering under the bright afternoon sun.

Eric watches Dele resume his post, looking completely crestfallen. His sunken shoulders and expression in complete contrast with his signature pep. Seeing Dele in this state, Eric blinks back tears as he attempts to resume play.

A minute later, there is another lull in the game. Eric jogs over to Dele. “Dele, I—” he freezes when he sees Dele’s sharp glance. “Okay.” Eric mumbles to the ground as he backs off and returns down field. 

The final minutes are uneventful, the match sputters into a goalless draw. Eric can’t even bring himself to face Dele as the dejected team files into the locker room. “You god damn good for nothing, Eric!” he mutters to himself. He had meant to shield Dele from harm, but instead achieved nothing but humiliating Dele and himself. Why didn’t he make it clear that he was in Dele’s corner, now and always! Dele has had a rough childhood, he certainly does not need Eric to remind him of what it feels like to have no one on his side.

Eric showers and changes within five minutes; he just wants to go home and have the day be over. He checks his locker; his jacket is still in Dele’s car, his wallet too. Shit. Rummaging through his pockets, Eric finds his keys and phone still on hand. Fuck it. He can’t face Dele right now; can’t take the crushing heartbreak of Dele telling him their friendship is over. He borrows a fifty from Hugo and stumbles onto the street, frantically hailing the first cab he sees.

Eric barely bothers to lock the front door as he stumbles into his kitchen. He grabs a beer from the fridge and downs it within fifteen seconds, then reaches for another… then another.

\--

It’s already dark out when Eric awakens on his couch. The numbing feeling of dread hits him even before the memories of the day. Eric gropes around the cushions for his phone: two new messages. He opens the first one, “4 hours ago”, from Hugo.

 

 

> _Eric, what the fuck is going on?_
> 
> _Dele is over here bawling his eyes out._ _He says he’s upset over the match, but I know that isn’t it. He only got like this when he realised you left without him._
> 
> _FIX THIS!_

Eric’s heart sinks completely. He fumbles to open the second message. It’s from Dele.

 

 

> _I’m really sorry, Diet. Come have that pint with me like we talked about. Call me… please._

The timestamp says “3 hours ago”. Eric is horrified. He can’t stop the stinging tears that flood his own eyes. Dele deserves so much better, he thinks; deserves so much better than having such a shit teammate and shit friend who has done nothing but hurt him.

Eric sighs slowly and heavily, rubbing away the remainder of his tears. He knows that he wants, no… _desperately needs_ , to see Dele happy again; the sunshine returning to his brown eyes. After a beat, he resolves to do something about it.

Eric bolts through the front door, his mind buzzing with what he can say or get for Dele that would make it up to him. Just then, something else about that awful moment on the pitch hits Eric. Something left to rattle in the back of his mind since the daytime match that only now comes screaming into his consciousness:

“Dele said he fancies me!”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

_Shit._

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Diet, where are you?_

Dele’s mind swirls with panic as he races from spot to spot. Eric isn’t in the changing area, or the showers, or the parking lot. Did he really just call Eric a lousy friend? And blurt out that he fancies him?

He feels so guilty. Eric is the opposite of a bad friend. But the pitch has a mystical hold on Dele, every time he steps on for a match, this uncontrollable passion pours forth from Dele; and along with it, a hair-trigger temper. Why did it have to be Eric in the firing line?

Dele makes his way back to the lockers; hoping that Eric will somehow be at the changing bench, towelling off his hair and ready to accept Dele’s apology.

“I think he’s split, no?” Kane gestures towards the side exit.

“Yup,” Hugo chimes in. “Took a fifty off me and went to grab a taxi.”

Dele doesn’t think his expression gives away the crushing blow he feels in his chest, but Hugo notices. “You two had plans?”

“No… no. I’m just—” Dele gestures vaguely. He doesn’t know what to say. Dele knows it’s his fault. And now Eric is rightfully hurt or angry, or both.

Dele knows how much the sport and the team means to Eric. No football player needs to be told they are a shite friend eighty minutes into a crap game, especially not Eric! Dele barely makes it to his locker and yanks open the door to hide his face before he starts bawling.

“Dele, what’s the matter?” Kane rests a hand on Dele’s shoulder, guiding Dele to sit on the bench beside the lockers. “I saw you and Eric go at it after that scuff with the gooner.”

“I’m fine, H.” Dele knows it isn’t convincing at all alongside the uncontrollable sobs that still emerge from him. “Just… just know I could have done better on the field.”

“Here, you drink. Then, chin up.” Dele looks up and gratefully accepts the bottle of water from Jan, looking more like a boy scout than ever with his immaculate side-part haloed by the ceiling lamps.

Dele wants himself to be encouraged by Jan’s kindness, he genuinely appreciates that the lads are trying to console him. But he really just wishes Eric is beside him instead, teasing him about his goalless performance.

It takes thirty more minutes for Dele’s breath to finally steady into soft sniffles. He makes his way to his car in the now quiet parking lot. He checks his phone. No new activity, no Eric. Dele desperately wants to call Eric but decides to give him some space if he needs. He sends a text instead.

Dele pulls into his driveway. He puts the wallet in the glove compartment but grabs Eric’s jacket from the passenger seat. The material still feels warm against his skin. It feels like Eric.

\--

It had been an especially chilly day over one year ago. Pochettino had not cared one bit that it was only Dele’s first week training with the Spurs team, running him ragged along with the rest of the boys.

The lads had dispersed after training. And Dele sat in the bleachers sipping from a paper cup, mentally preparing himself for the years ahead. Years of training like a Premier League player, and no longer a League One player.

He imagined he must look like a homeless child, struggling to stay warm on a street corner under seven blankets. He always looked cold, because he almost always was.

“Where did you get that tea?” the scruffy blonde approached Dele, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. Dele had seen Eric around but they had never spoken before.

“It’s hot cocoa.” Dele watched the white vapours curl themselves away from his lips as he spoke. Eric’s face brightened up for a moment, then fell again as Dele continued, “I got the last batch though. Catering lady said they only brought one thermos.”

“Rubbish service.” Eric furrows his brows and brushes off the spot next to Dele before sitting down. A moment passes. “You alright?” Eric turned his head to Dele, his eyes darting down then back to Dele’s face. “Poch is a mean one, ain’t he.”

Dele briefly wondered about what exactly this Dier character was up to. Was he trying to belittle the new blood so he could remain the top dog? Or worse yet, looking to treat Dele as some sort of charity case.

“It suits me,” Dele was sure he had only just decided that was true, “I like Poch lighting a fire under me when I muck things up.”

“Come pair with me at next training, I’ll rage when you muck up too,” Eric deadpanned. Dele noticed the slightest smile cross Eric’s face before his expression returned to its resting pout. The handsome bastard.

“Ah, like your special project then,” Dele smiled. He was grateful for Eric’s offer albeit a little peeved at the pity.

“Psssh.” Eric rolled his eyes. “See this?” Eric pointed to the Hotspurs insignia on his own jacket, then to the one on the side of Dele’s sweat pants, “We match!” Eric met Dele’s eyes, “This means we’re stuck as mates now... Doing mate things like helping the other lad.”

“I’ve seen you out there too,” Eric tilted his head towards the pitch. “No slouch of a player—” Before Dele could react, Eric snatched the cocoa out of his hands and gulped down the final few sips for himself, grinning smugly at Dele, “You’re certainly nobody’s special project, Delboy.”

Dele stared at his empty hands in shock for a moment, then found himself trembling with laughter. Eric laughed too, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides as he ruffled Dele’s hair.

That was the first moment Dele saw Eric as he truly is. Nothing nefarious, just a big oaf with a big heart. Someone Dele grew proud to call his best friend.

\--

Dele slips on Eric’s jacket and zips it up all the way to his neck. It’s the same one Eric had been wearing that icy day in the bleachers; day one of their friendship.

Dele smiles at his memories of the purer times. The sparks of attraction for Eric had already been there long before he started falling in love over their umpteen sleepovers and hang outs.

He pulls the sleeves down over his hands. If things are never the same with Eric again, maybe its oversized folds would swallow him up into blissful nothingness. Dele checks his phone, no messages.

Once in the living room, Dele flips on the telly, fighting the urge to check his phone again. He watches the highlights of the Arsenal match, watches them replay the devastated look on Eric’s face when Dele slags him off.

The presenter’s commentary slowly fades into disembodied noise as Dele’s mind starts to wander to Eric, the future, and what a future with Eric might hold.

\--

The doorbell rings. Dele is already expecting it. Yet, the surprise and terror still wash over him when he opens the door and sees Eric standing on his porch.

He is carrying three bags of takeout from a nearby bar, all appearing to contain bottles of liquor and drinks. Eric locks eyes with him, “Dele... Today, I made you feel like I wasn’t on your side. But I am; I’ll always be on Team Dele! And, if you’ll still have me, I would like very much to have all these pints, and this shit Fanta and Coke by your side tonight.”

Dele is overcome with relief even as the mere sight of Eric makes all the guilt rush back over him. “Eric, you don’t owe me any apology! I’m sorry I let my sodding temper get the best of me. You are the best teammate, Eric Dier!”

Eric sets down the bags on the porch chair. He pulls Dele into a warm hug, Dele reciprocates immediately.

“There’s one more thing,” Eric says softly after they release their embrace. “Did I hear you correctly out there… that you fancy me?” Eric gently takes Dele’s hands in his; he pauses and exhales deeply, “Because I fancy you too, Dele Alli.”

Dele’s head spins, he feels faint. _What is Eric saying?!_

“Dele?” Eric studies his face with concern. “I’ll… I’ll give you some time to process this.” Eric walks to the edge of the porch and stares out into the night sky, his hands shoved in his pocket.

Dele’s head swells with thoughts. After today, he’s barely sure he’s even good for Eric as a friend. A sense of dread settles on his shoulders as he imagines how much more his temper, his neediness and all his inadequacies would hurt Eric if they were boyfriends. _Why did it have to be Eric in the firing line?_

Eric loves football! But, in the forbidden whispers only shared between best friends, Dele knows Eric longs to give it all up some day. Eric has told Dele that, when his knees creek at the ripe old age of thirty-five, he dreams of a wife, smelly children, a life in the suburbs away from his former celebrity.

Dele, on the other hand, never wants to leave the pitch. It had been his refuge from the crappy outside world since as long as he can remember. Be it as a Player, Coach or sixty year-old Ball Boy, Dele just can't leave football behind. 

Dele comes to a sombre realization.

He knows Eric has had girlfriends before. He knows that Eric could be happy without ever having to indulge Dele’s feelings for him. Dele imagines the toast he'll give as the best man at Eric’s wedding, no doubt to a lovely bride. Imagines he will be genuinely happy that Eric has found bliss with someone else.

_I’m not the one for you, Diet._

“Eric—” Eric spins around, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. Dele has to force the words out, “I didn’t mean I fancied you in that way. I meant as a friend, a great friend!”

The devastation is clear across Eric’s face. He smiles nervously, snorting in disbelief, “Dele, come on.”

“Eric, please just drop this.”

“Dele, you mean to say you don’t fancy me?”

 _I DO FANCY YOU!_ Dele wants to scream at the top of his lungs. But he remembers Eric’s look of pure dejection when he had thrown their friendship back in Eric’s face just this afternoon. God damn it, Eric deserves better!

“I’m not gay Eric, and neither are you!” Dele doesn’t mean for it to come out quite as loud as it does.

Eric looks stunned. Then, an intense look flashes across his face, at once heartbroken, livid, confused and desperate.

“Fine, give me back my wallet and stuff and I’ll be out of here then.” Eric says coldly. He strides up to Dele’s car and yanks open the door, digging through the interior till he finds his wallet in the glove compartment. Dele notices that Eric’s eyes have grown moist and red.

“Eric, please! Let’s talk this out.”

“What is there to talk about?” Eric snaps. “I fancy you, you don’t fancy me. I have nothing left to say to you, Dele. Not tonight, probably not ever.”

“Eric, you don’t mean that!” Dele feels the tears gush down his face.

“Give me my jacket back too.” Eric takes two steps towards Dele, grabbing for his jacket from Dele’s torso.

Dele squirms out of Eric’s grip.

“Give it back, Dele!” Eric’s voice cracks multiple times. He grabs the collar of the jacket, yanking it violently to himself, sending Dele sprawling towards him.

“Fuck off!” Dele shoves Eric, he stumbles back a few steps. Dele tries to stop the trembling and sobbing as he steadies himself in preparation of Eric’s next strike. Eric is also coiled aggressively; he breathes heavily and glares up at Dele like a bull ready to charge.

“Do you take it back?” Dele spits. He tugs down the zipper and pulls the jacket open across his chest, ready to throw it off. “Say you take it back and I’ll give you your jacket, Eric.”

“What?”

“The very first time we talked, you said this made us friends for life,” Dele slams his palm into the cockerel embroidered over his left breast pocket. “Since you no longer want to have anything to do with me, take back your promise and you can have whatever you want, Eric.”

Eric says nothing as the seconds go by. He continues to breathe heavily, each breath stuttering out unevenly in sobs. Finally, he uncoils himself and stands upright, letting his arms slouch to his sides.

“No. You keep it.” Eric sighs. “I’ll always be your friend, Delboy.”

Eric puffs out his cheeks as he hangs his head. He turns to leave, slumping his way back up Dele’s driveway. Dele is too stunned to call after him. Eric turns at the gate and walks out of sight.

The wind howls through the surrounding trees and blows leaves and debris up Dele’s porch around his feet. Dele stares up his empty driveway, feeling as if he has just made an insurmountably huge mistake. He shudders. Dele has never felt so cold in his life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this sombre note isn't the end of the series. 
> 
> I am currently working hard on chapter 4. Watch this space!


	4. Chapter 4

 

Dele is already awake when the alarm buzzes. There are many tough hours of training ahead, but he doesn’t even feel strong enough to uncurl himself from the foetal position he has laid awake in for almost the entire duration of the night.

He only pulls himself to sit upright and smacks down the alarm button when the blaring starts to become completely overbearing, clawing away the pathetic remnants of his sanity.

Dele had spent the past six hours awake, sad and utterly confused on whether he had made the right decision in turning Eric down. The sleep deprivation now seems like a complete waste because he still feels as confused as ever. The only thing that Dele is sure of is that he wants Eric and him to stay best friends. Anything more can be worked out once Eric is back at his side.

\--

Dele gets to the training centre a few minutes early. Moments later, he sees Kyle’s car pull up. Kyle steps out of the driver’s side. The passenger and backseat doors swing open as well, Kane and Eric emerge. Dele frowns. It’s clear they’ve gone for breakfast together. Not an uncommon ritual at all, but one they have usually invited Dele to.

Did he miss a call from Eric this morning? Dele checks his phone, no notifications.

“Dele! On time for once, eh?” Kyle greets him with a smile as the three men walk briskly over.

“Morning, lads!” Dele calls over.

Kyle and Kane walk on ahead, engrossed in what seems to be an ongoing conversation about home maintenance. Fascinating.

Dele gives Eric a weak smile as they find themselves walking side by side behind the two men. “Hey Diet.”

Eric looks ragged and weary. He manages the impossible in mustering an even weaker smile, “Good morning, Dele.”

Then, a silence blankets over them.

Two seconds go by, then five. Neither man can look the other in the eye. Kyle and Kane are still chattering away ahead of them. Dele feels so suffocated; his mind scrambles for something to say to Eric but nothing comes.

\--

Eric doesn’t choose Dele when it’s time to partner up for warm ups. By the time Dele glances over hopefully, Eric has already pulled Kane to his side and is jogging on the spot in preparation to start.

Dele partners with a Harry of his own. Winksy is an old friend, trading football tips and beers with Dele long before either even dared dream of playing for the premiere league; or could legally drink. It isn’t surprisingly that he spots something amiss almost instantly.

“Nice to have your company today, mate.” Winksy’s eyes dart towards Eric, “Wasn’t expecting it though.”

Dele shrugs. He trusts Winksy enough to tell him the truth, but things are just too raw at the moment.

“You two work it out, yeah?” Winksy frowns, “Would give my left arm to have what you and Eric have with someone.”

Dele raises his eyebrows in surprise. God knows, there have been endless jokes about it from the team; but this is the first time one of the lads has been sincere in their implication that Dele and Eric are more than just friends.

Dele sighs. He can’t tell if the long pause that follows is him gathering his thoughts or if it is the fear of verbalising his feelings for the first time. “Eric is something, isn’t he,” he finally says, drawing out his breath affectionately. “Doesn’t know what’s good for him, though.” Dele wonders why Eric chose him; chose to sit with the waifish boy from MK Dons to share a cup of cocoa on a random Friday; and get himself swept up in the tempest of confusion that is Dele Alli.

Winksy scoffs, “He was a right grump when he first joined, moaning about this and that or missing Portugal.” He stares straight at Dele, “Eric’s only got that spring in his step after him and you became mates... ‘ _Where are you, Delboy;_ _let’s do this, Delboy!’_ ” Winksy falls short of capturing the low rumble of Eric’s voice but chuckles at his own attempt nonetheless.

Dele blushes hard. A fit of giggles erupts from his core and tumbles into the morning air, causing him to double over clutching his sides. He thinks Eric is too far away to notice, but hides his face behind Winksy anyway so Eric doesn’t have to see him acting like a schoolgirl.

This is new information. Dele had never even considered that he might be as good an influence on Eric as Eric has been on him. _Could it actually work? Could being boyfriends with Eric Dier actually lead to something other than the singular tragic end Dele can imagine; something happy and... forever?  
_

Almost as soon as the thought appears, it grows fuzzy and fades back into the reality of present day. “It’s all fucked anyway. He isn’t even speaking to me,” Dele mumbles to himself. And Poch’s yelling signals the beginning of phase two training: death by sprinting.

\--

Seeing the unseasonably nice weather that persists even after training ends, the team decides to visit a café a little outside London for afternoon tea. Most lads take their own car. Feeling slightly less gloomy than when he got up this morning, Dele gladly invites Winksy to ride shotgun; and Kyle is nice enough to ferry the other freeloaders like Kane and Eric.

After tea and some light snacks, Eric and Kyle go to the pastry counter to pick out some desserts for the table. They return with Eric carrying several small brown bags. “Mini scones!” Kyle declares.

Eric hands a bag to Kane, and tosses one to Winksy across the table. He walks right by Dele as he hands out more scones to the boys at the far side of the table. Dele feels himself shrinking into his chair. He has lost his best friend; he should just accept it.

The lads continue munching down or tapping away on their phones, not noticing that Eric seems to be ignoring Dele. Having already devoured the treat he received a mere thirty seconds ago, Kane now paws at the crumbs in his bag. Mousa and Jan are apparently sharing. Jan breaks his dessert in two and manoeuvres one half towards Mousa’s face, his mouth gaping open in a smile as if he were urging a toddler to eat. Mousa stares straight at Jan, unblinking; his mouth drawn tightly into a defiant line. This standoff continues for several seconds.

Eric is still walking around the table with his pastry bag, chatting with someone or other; seemingly everyone but Dele. This is ridiculous. Dele cannot believe that he is about to burst into tears over a fucking mini-scone!

Dele feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He knows who it is instantly.

“This one’s the ugliest. Saved it just for you, Delboy.” Eric nods his head towards the open brown bag he holds up to Dele, eyes twinkling warmly.

Dele peeks into the bag. The moment he spots the burnt, lopsided, jam-leaking monstrosity of a scone, Dele breaks into the biggest smile. He feels all the earlier tensions of the day just melt off his shoulder. He wants to jump up and give Eric the biggest hug he can muster.

“Sheesh,” Dele holds up the broken scone to his face and grins. “Fit for a king!”

\--

It is quite clear from the amount of cologne Kyle slathers on in the loo that he is meeting his lady friend this evening. “Someone give Dier and H a lift,” he calls over as he parts ways with the group outside the café, “No time to drop those bums back home before my plans.”

The other lads say their goodbyes too as they splinter into singles or smaller groups, all eager to enjoy their training-free, rest day tomorrow.

Winksy comes up to Dele, with Kane in tow. “H and I are going to meet some other lads at the pub a couple of blocks down.” He smiles knowingly at Dele and raises his voice so Eric can overhear, “Dele, you help Dier get home, okay?”

Dele smacks Winksy on the shoulder.

\--

Eric does his best impression of a deer in headlights when Dele offers him a lift home. He only accepts after what seems like a full minute’s hesitation. Dele decides it is because Eric couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to turn him down.

Dele hopes that the dreadful awkwardness of this morning won’t return between them. Even if he has to **make up** small talk about an early spring bloom in the orchid meadows of Hampshire, he will not let this car ride descend into frigid silence. Dele decides that he will fight to retain Eric's friendship, he will not let the best friend he's ever had slip through his fingers!

It comes as a massive relief when Eric speaks almost instantly after getting into the passenger seat. “Why is your car still so rubbish, Dele?” Eric deadpans. “Let’s put on some good music at least.”

Dele rummages through the pile of junk on his dashboard. “If you want, we could put on my sister’s old Spice Girls CD.” He smirks at Eric, studying his face, “Or maybe something Portuguese.”

Eric glares at Dele out of the corner of his eyes. “Both hands on the wheel, please.”

Dele smiles to himself. He turns on the radio to a local hip-hop station. Eric attempts to sing, mumble rather, along to the songs for a few minutes. He taps his fingers on the dashboard and bobs his head with absolutely none of the rhythm he displays on the field. Dele discreetly raises his phone to capture this majestic display on camera, but it is promptly smacked away by Eric.

By the fourth or fifth song, Eric’s eyelids start to droop. He spreads his legs and leans back in the passenger seat. His head lolls to the side, lips slightly parted. As Eric slips into a quiet slumber, his head slowly dips till it comes to rest on Dele’s shoulder.

Feeling Eric’s bare skin against his, Dele feels a warm swell building in his chest.

\--

Eric is still peacefully asleep when Dele pulls up to his house. Dele idles the car at the start of Eric’s driveway, he is unsure of what to do. He doesn’t want this moment to end, yet can’t think of a valid reason not to wake Eric.

“What—” Eric’s eyes blink open, slowly coming back into focus. Drunk on sleepiness, he nuzzles his face into Dele’s neck for a moment before realising where he is. The tickle of Eric’s beard sends a jolt of electricity from Dele’s neck down his spine.

“Whoa!” Eric snaps upright, fully awake. “I’m… I’m sorry Dele,” Eric looks panicked. All the unresolved issues from yesterday threaten to bubble up violently again, “I didn’t mean to do that. I mean, I wasn’t trying to; wasn’t trying anything—”

“Eric,” Dele interrupts, he has to shake off the intense moment as well, “Thanks for the scone, mate.” He pats Eric on the shoulder, lowering his voice to a mock-solemn tone, “It tasted terrible.”

Eric looks confused for a moment, then swats at Dele’s hand, booming with laughter. It feels like the first time in days Dele has heard Eric’s genuine laugh.

It takes Eric a while to settle down into a soft chuckle. “Well, I’m off then.” Eric pats Dele on the back before exiting the car, shutting the door behind him, “Thanks for the ride, Delboy.”

“Hey Diet!” Dele calls through the rolled-down window. “No training tomorrow; want to come over? I unlocked some new levels in that game you suck at.”

Eric snaps into that deer in headlights look again, “Don’t think I can make it tomorrow.” He shuffles his feet and stares at the ground.

Dele’s face drops in disappointment, then returns to its steely resolve. “Eric, I know there is lots we need to work out. And we will!” Dele stares up at Eric standing just outside the rolled-down window. “I just miss you, mate. It’s not even been two days and I already miss my best friend.”

Eric sighs deeply, “I’ve not exactly had a ripper time these past two days either. Maybe you're right.” He leans down through the window to meet Dele’s gaze, “Tomorrow then, I’ll come over and we’ll have a traditional lad’s day.”

“Great!” Dele beams from ear to ear. He holds out his fist and Eric bumps it with his own.

Eric starts to walk towards his front door.

“See you around 10 then,” Dele calls after him.

Eric stops mid-step and spins around, walking back up to Dele’s car. “You know what?” He leans back through the window, grinning at Dele. “I’m not sleepy anymore after my little nap. You want to come in for a pint right now? I know it’s not exactly your rubbish house, but you’re welcome to sleepover too if you’re too shit to drive after.”

Dele already knows his answer before Eric finishes speaking. He turns off the engine and steps out of the car.

“Sounds like a plan. So, what do you have in mind, Diet?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far.
> 
> Stay tuned for the 5th and final part!


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

“No more bloody Fantoke!” Eric shudders dramatically, “That’s disgusting.” He slides Dele’s Frankenstein concoction of orange Fanta, cola, and a full shot of whiskey back across the table.

“Mate, its ripper!” Dele picks up the glass and takes a heavy swig. “It’s alright; some lads just can’t handle excellence.”

“Can’t handle that mutant fucking drink, more like,” Eric gets up and rummages through his liquor cabinet in search of something untainted by Dele’s Fantoke. “Can’t believe you wasted my good whiskey on that rubbish.”

Eric eventually decides on an unopened bottle of Highland Single Malt he finds at the back of the shelf. He returns to the couch next to Dele, pouring himself a glass.

“You’re welcome to raid my kitchen the next time you come over; I saw a bottle of champagne in there somewhere.” Dele glances at Eric out of the corner of his eye, a small smile spreading across his face, “Think the gaffer gave it to me. You know, for actually scoring goals.”

Eric jabs Dele in the side, snorting back a laugh when it causes Dele to jolt upright.

“Stop poking me, Diet!”

Eric must admit, it has been exceedingly easy getting back in the natural groove around Dele. Still, he feels like a bleeding antelope hiding its grave wounds so the pack doesn’t leave it behind to die. He wonders if Dele will think about how pathetically and desperately Eric must want to pull him into a raw kiss every time he looks at Eric now.

It still stings, bearing his heart to Dele and getting turned down like that.

\--

After hours of doing absolutely nothing productive: chowing down on takeout and emptying Eric’s liquor cabinet while browsing through the internet’s underbelly of funny sports blunders, social media scandals and pictures of a young Mauricio Pochettino with long hair and a headband, Dele and Eric start to feel the effects of the alcohol and late hour.

They take turns to shower and change for bed. Dele much prefers a night on Eric’s sofa over a nauseating ride home in a cab anyway. Eric gives Dele a baby blue onesie, adamantly insisting that it’s the only extra pyjama he has. With five Fantoke and whiskeys in his belly, Dele slips it on, deciding that it might look good on him after all.

Dele tries not to stare as Eric emerges from the bathroom in just pyjama bottoms, steam rising off his still damp blonde hair. Eric lays out a heavy comforter on the sofa for Dele, patting it repeatedly to get it fluffy. Dele feels rather moved by this display; if he didn’t know any better, he would figure Eric Dier for an upstanding young gent.

Attempting to distract himself, Dele stumbles back to the table and crushes the empty tinfoil from their takeout into a ball. He juggles it from one hand to another, and even bounces it off his head once. “Hey Diet, how many keepy uppys do you reckon I can get on this tinfoil ball?”

Eric looks over. He isn’t sober enough to think this is anything but a great idea. “I’d say two, about the same as you can reach in training.”

“Whoooa,” Dele feints outrage, he beams at Eric. “I say fifty at least.”

Dele tosses the ball up and lets it fall to his waiting foot. He taps it skilfully with the inside of his sole, “One!”

The ball flies into the table and sends the metal cutlery clanging to the ground.

Eric roars with laughter. Dele scrambles to pick up the cutlery, chasing a stray spoon that manages to slide almost entirely to the far side of the room. “I meant to do that; didn’t want to intimidate you too much.” Eric laughs even harder.

As he picks up the spoon, Dele notices a dent in the far wall; the plaster has broken in a spider-web pattern around a small hole. “What’s this?”

Eric pauses, then explains, “It was an accident, I punched it.”

“Aww Diet, you’re taking up sparring again!” Dele slurs, stumbling back towards Eric, patting him on the shoulder and grinning like an idiot.

“It happened last night,” Eric lowers his voice, he knows he’s about to kill the mood but he doesn’t know what else to say, he can’t lie to Dele. “I was upset over, you know—” He avoids Dele’s gaze, dipping his eyes to the floor, “Didn’t expect the damn thing to break.”

Dele snaps out of his euphoric stupor; those words are like a sobering bucket of ice water. He feels his hands slide lifelessly to his sides, “Oh.”

“It just really hurt me, is all,” Eric mumbles to the ground.

Dele lowers his face to meet Eric’s downward glance, “Eric, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologise, Dele,” Eric interrupts. He finally looks up to meet Dele’s eyes, his face open and vulnerable, “You either fancy someone or you don’t. It’s not your fault, I know that.”

“No. Eric, I meant to say I’m sorry – for lying to you last night.”

“Lying?”

Dele takes a deep breath. Winksy’s assurance in the morning, the staggering amount of liquor in his system, as well as the warmth he feels spreading from his heart to his entire body as he stares into Eric’s blue eyes right now, all combine to part the clouds of confusion of the past two days. Dele is absolutely certain about what he wants him and Eric to be now.

“I lied to you Eric. I said I didn’t fancy you because I was scared; just terrified of hurting you, of being an awful boyfriend, and not being able to make you happy.”

Eric frowns. He can’t believe what he is hearing. “Dele, that was my call to make.”

“I know that now. That’s why I want to come out with the truth.” Dele pensively studies Eric’s face before he continues, “I’m bonkers in love with you, mate!”

Dele exhales with relief; he feels a heavy load being lifted off his chest.

The words just continue to pour out of him, “You know the feeling you get when you clinch the game-winner during stoppage time? I’m soaring like that every time I’m with you. And I think you’re about the fittest lad I’ve ever seen; even considering I spend ages in front of the mirror.”

Eric looks stunned. He stares at Dele blankly.

Seeing Eric’s reaction, Dele assures him, “Eric, I just wanted to come clean with you. You don’t have to say anything.”

Eric is still confused and a little ticked off as to how Dele could possibly think Eric was too good for him, so much so that he had to lie to Eric. At the same time, his insides are tingling with joy from hearing that Dele is in love with him.

“Phew! What a day,” Eric finally muses. “I’m sorry Dele, I just need to sleep it off right now. Too burnt out and drunk to process this.” Eric plops himself heavily onto the couch, still feeling overwhelmed at Dele’s revelation. He squints his eyes shut and reclines till the sofa-bed function pops out, giving Eric ample room to lay on his back. Eric pulls the comforter over himself, blocking almost his entire face from Dele.

Dele’s face falls. He can feel his heart rate rising to a panicked frenzy. Eric is clearly cutting him out again. “Eric…” Dele doesn’t know what to say, he supposes _begging_  Eric to talk to him isn’t the right option. “I guess I’ll just be off then. Come by tomorrow, okay? There won’t be any Fantoke, I promise.” Dele laughs dryly at his own joke; he starts to leave.

“Wait!” Eric’s eyes spring open, he calls after Dele, “Will you stay? Please.”

Dele pauses, looking perplexedly back at Eric.

“Look,” Eric explains, “I’m too beat to figure out what we are right now. But could we… could I… just hold you for a while, Dele?”

It’s Dele’s turn to look stunned. He doesn’t even have to think about it, he slides in to sit beside Eric on the sofa-bed. “Okay.” His voice sounds small, barely above a whisper. Dele realises that his eyelids are also half closed from the pure exhaustion of the day.

Dele’s breath hitches in his throat as he dips onto his side so him and Eric are laying face-to-face under the warmth of the comforter. The tips of their toes touch. Eric runs his hand down Dele’s arm, intertwining their fingers, “Thank you, Delboy. This feels better.”

“Go to sleep, Diet. You look exhausted,” Dele smiles, he clicks off the floor lamp. He studies Eric’s face in the dark, “I’ll be right here.” Eric crinkles his nose in acknowledgement and lets his eyelids droop shut.

Dele turns to his other side and shifts closer to Eric till he feels Eric’s warm torso against his back. Eric drapes his arm over Dele’s midsection and squeezes Dele closer to himself. He nuzzles his nose against Dele’s nape, Dele smells like peppermint.

Dele whimpers softly as he feels Eric’s scruff against his neck. He leans back even more into Eric’s embrace. Eric can feel his own heart beat against the warm haven of Dele’s body.

The men drift off into a peaceful slumber, blissful smiles on both their faces.

\--

Dele awakens first to the light of morning. His eyes remain closed as his faculties slowly repossess him. Dele feels buoyed and safe for some reason; there is a contentment growing in his core that he can’t explain until he feels the Eric’s warmth wrapped around him and remembers where he is.

He traces the joints on Eric’s fingers laying over his midsection and listens to Eric’s steady breathing against his nape. Dele sighs. He wishes he could go back to sleep or just melt into Eric like this for a few more hours. But twenty years of experience has taught him that he is just wired to get up and moving once he is awake. Dele reluctantly pries Eric’s hand from his tummy and gets off the couch, glancing back at Eric dozing away.

Eric looks a little goofy with his mouth half open and snoring lightly, but Dele is sure any observer will still be able to tell what a handsome lad Eric is even without seeing the twinkling blue of his eyes. Dele pauses for a moment longer to stare before smiling to himself and making his way to the guest bathroom.

The sight in the mirror horrifies Dele. He had somehow forgotten the hideous onesie Eric convinced him to put on last night. He fusses with his hair while splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth.

The sofa-bed is empty and water in the master bathroom is running when Dele emerges. It’s better that Eric isn’t here to see Dele before he changes out of this monstrosity. Dele has some fresh sports gear in his bag. He frowns, fussing with the front zipper of the onesie. It won’t budge.

Footsteps echo down the hall and Eric emerges in a thin white undershirt and sweats. It catches Dele by surprise as he continues to struggle with the onesie.

“Eric, unzip me and take this off please!”

Eric’s eyes widen, he glances around as if unsure if Dele meant to address someone behind him.

Dele replays his words in his mind and balks at the unintended implication, “NO!” He feels the blood rushing to his face. “No, Diet. I meant… this… the zipper, is stuck. I want to change into my clothes.”

Eric cocks one eyebrow, “Well, good morning to you too, Dele.” Eric paces over and attempts to pry apart the zipper teeth with his fingertips. He inhales deeply when he comes into contact with Dele’s bare skin.

Things seem much clearer to Eric in the light of day. If Dele and him fancy each other and already get along like a house on fire, why shouldn’t they give it a shot? To hell with his own indecision, and to hell with Dele’s insecurities; these are traits they have long been taught to shed on the pitch, so why is it so difficult to break free of them for personal matters too?

Or maybe that is just his libido speaking. Eric feels especially _energetic_ in the morning. It certainly does not help that he can still feel the imprint of Dele’s body rubbing against his front from the night before. Whatever it is, Eric knows that his heart is filled to the brim having Dele’s company this morning.

Dele glances at Eric’s hands tinkering with the zipper over his torso. He laughs awkwardly, “This pyjama you got me in is too hideous, mate.” He is still flustered from having Eric’s face a few inches from his own and Eric’s hands brushing over his upper body.

It causes Dele to speak before thinking again, “Didn’t mean to imply anything sexual. I mean… unless you want me to.” _Shit!_ Dele tries to shrink into himself and hopes Eric did not hear that.

“There you go!” Eric finally conquers the zipper and helps Dele slip it off to reveal his undershirt and white briefs.

“Thanks, Diet.” Dele and Eric lock eyes. Dele realises they are both still holding on to the onesie Eric has helped him slip off, their fingertips touching where they overlap on the fabric. Dele knows _normal_ circumstances dictate that he should start changing into his fresh clothes and start the day now. But he remains rooted where he stands, he somehow can’t move away from Eric.

“Dele, and so what if I want you to?” Eric seems frozen in place too, staring straight at Dele.

“To what?”

“Imply something sexual,” Eric feels his breathing become irregular and deep as his heart rate climbs, “But mean it this time.”

“Well, then—” Dele trails off, he finds himself smirking and leaning in towards Eric’s face.

Eric instantly closes the remaining inches between them.

The kiss is explosive. Eric runs his fingers through Dele’s hair before resting his hand on the back of Dele’s neck, guiding his face towards his. Dele whimpers as Eric’s soft lips press deeply against his. He returns the favour, parting his lips for Eric’s tongue to enter.

Eric feels Dele’s hand dart under his shirt, running across his abdomen and up to his chest. They break the kiss long enough for Dele to pull Eric’s shirt off, over his shoulders. Dele’s undershirt is soon in a pile on the living room floor as well, thanks to Eric.

Eric guides Dele back onto the sofa-bed and gets on top of him, straddling Dele. He leans down, kissing Dele’s neck before moving on to his collarbone. Eric presses his hips into Dele’s body. Dele’s eyes widen, he glances down to the area below Eric’s navel. His cheeks fluster as he smiles, “You’re poking me again, Diet.”

“I can’t help it. You’re just so fit, Delboy!”

Dele’s face and chest are flushed red. He runs his hand down Eric’s back, along his spine, stopping just above the swell of his ass. After a pause, Dele traces over Eric’s abs then reaches into the front of Eric’s sweatpants.

Eric grunts, then grunts again with more ferocity as he feels Dele’s fingers wrap around him start to massage. Dele grins, “Fuck yeah, Diet! You’re incredible, mate!”

Feeling the pleasure building towards an apex, Eric gently eases Dele’s hand off him. He does not want the moment to end just yet. He slides down Dele’s body till his face is level with Dele’s waist. Dele shudders as Eric guides his knees apart with his warm hands.

Eric runs both his hands up Dele’s thighs, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of Dele’s briefs. He glances up at Dele and smiles hungrily. Dele grins in acknowledgement, nodding slightly for Eric to proceed. Eric tugs Dele’s briefs down in one strong motion. “Whoa, Dele!”

Dele raises his brows in surprise, “You’ve seen me starkers a hundred times in the locker room.”

“I don’t gawk at other lads in the shower, you sleaze.” Eric certainly isn’t looking at Dele’s _face_ as he speaks. “Very nice, Delboy. Very nice.” Dele blushes as he feels Eric’s eyes roving over his body.

Eric climbs back up Dele’s body till they are face-to-face. Eric is gasping heavily, his eyes intense, “I really need to have you right now, Delboy.”

\--

When noon strikes two hours later, Eric and Dele are still laying sluggishly under the covers in each other’s embrace. Eric strokes Dele’s hair, planting a soft kiss on Dele’s forehead.

Dele chuckles to himself; years as a professional athlete and Eric Dier still manages to make him sore in new places.

After a moment, Eric frowns at the clock, “We should probably grab some lunch now, yeah?”

“Nah. Too comfortable. Can’t move.”

“We’ll order take-out then. Don’t really feel like getting hounded by fans right now anyway.”

“You wish, Diet. All the fans are probably waiting for an autograph outside Hazard’s carwash or Sanchez’s hairdresser.”

Eric rolls his eyes.

“Aww, don’t fret, mate. I think I hear fans doing the Eric Diet chant outside right now!” Dele perks up and dramatically cups his hand over his ear. He starts humming a tune Eric knows too well.

“Dele, don’t you start—” Eric narrows his eyes at Dele, he knows what’s coming.

“I love Eric Dier, Eric Dier loves me!”

“Dele, shush. What a racket!” Eric laughs, “Doesn’t sound right unless it’s half the stadium chanting.”

Dele grins back at Eric. After a moment, his smile fades into something more pensive and earnest. “I’m not just singing the chant, you know… I really do love Eric Dier.”

“You never did give me a straight answer the night before our Gooner match,” Dele continues.

Eric looks at him quizzically.

“So, do you love me, Eric Diet?”

“Do you see me carrying any other teammates for entire matches as they miss sitter after sitter?”

“At least I don’t get nutmegged over ten times in—”

Eric doesn’t let Dele finish, pulling him into a tender kiss.

“Yes, Delboy! I do love you.” Eric allows their lips to meet again.

\--

Eric and Dele glance up at the clock; it is a good fifteen minutes past noon now. The intense light of the new day shines through the drapes; beckoning the men to relish in the friends, fans and thrilling world that awaits them outside. But a footballer learns young to trust his instincts; so neither move a muscle, sensing that more joyous new vistas await from staying in instead, never straying from the warmth of each other’s company.

 

-END-

 

 **A New Day** is part of a series. Click [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/583534) to check out other stories in the series.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed my first piece! Thank you so much to everyone who read/commented/kudo-ed it.
> 
> Please feel free to share your thoughts or even just talk about the latest shenanigans from Dele Alli and Eric Dier.
> 
> This story (all 5 chapters) is part 1of a planned 3 part "White Hot Spurs" series featuring Tottenham Hotspurs players. I'm now going to work on part 2. It will feature different Spurs players as the leads but will follow the same continuity as "A New Day", and Dele and Eric will still be involved. Look out for that soon! :)


End file.
